


The Only Place To Be Alone

by NovemberBlueSky



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Discussion of pregnancy (brief), F/M, Fluff, Force-Sensitive Reader, Not Beta Read, Not actually pregnant, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Jedi Character(s) - Freeform, Pregnancy Scares, Reader-Insert, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-24 14:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberBlueSky/pseuds/NovemberBlueSky
Summary: “-iren. This is Requiem, hailing on all frequencies. Come in, Siren,” Obi-Wan Kenobi,  calls out to you through the comm. His voice, discernible to you, even through the static, echoes in your head.The shock locks your muscles in place. You know you’re taking too long. You need to warn him. Now. He can’t land here. Tell him. Move, speak, dammit, anything.Answer him. ANSWER HIM.“Siren, here,” you gasp out at last. “Don’t land, Requiem. I repeat, don’t land.” The connection is too quiet, no ambient interface, no background whitenoise.You blindly stumble outside and scan the sky, looking for the telltale glint of a ship streaking through the atmosphere. Praying that it’s there. Praying that it’s not. Praying that you’re dreaming. Praying that he’s here.You spot it at last, cutting down through the clouds to the east, heading toward the same patch of woods where you crash landed.“Requiem, do you read me?” you shout at the ship, even though the microphone is a few centimeters from your mouth. “REQUIEM DO NOT LAND.”Obi-Wan comes to rescue you on a mission gone wrong and winds up just as trapped as you are. Can you survive until you're rescued without revealing your feelings?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	1. Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This will be an act in four parts. I'm sorry lol this was supposed to be a one shot, and it just got wildly out of control.

You had never really realized exactly how deep deep-cover was. You feel like you don’t even know the Jedi Knight you used to be. You haven’t been that person in so long. Months. Years? You’ve realized that you have become your cover. And you honestly don’t know what to think about this. It’s a survival mechanism, a coping skill, and it’s kept you alive. You suppose you shouldn’t feel ashamed about that. 

And it shouldn’t have taken you nearly as long to recognize the once-familiar comm ping from the equipment you salvaged from the escape pod.

You fumble the headset on as your fingers search for the activation buttons, and you groan in frustration as you can’t seem to find the right ones, until you just smash them all. 

Finally, the connection click crackles through the headset, and a distorted voice comes through hailing your ship designation. 

If it had been anyone else, you probably would’ve responded in time. But it was the one person that could freeze you in place with a word, that you feared the most coming here but wanted more than anything. 

“-iren. This is Requiem, hailing on all frequencies. Come in, Siren,” Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, calls out to you through the comm. His voice, discernible to you, even through the static, echoes in your head.

The shock locks your muscles in place. You know you’re taking too long. You need to warn him. Now. He can’t land here. Tell him. Move, speak, dammit, anything.

Answer him. ANSWER HIM.

“Siren, here,” you gasp out at last. “Don’t land, Requiem. I repeat, don’t land.” The connection is too quiet, no ambient interface, no background whitenoise.

You blindly stumble outside and scan the sky, looking for the telltale glint of a ship streaking through the atmosphere. Praying that it’s there. Praying that it’s not. Praying that you’re dreaming. Praying that he’s here.

You spot it at last, cutting down through the clouds to the east, heading toward the same patch of woods where you crash landed.

“Requiem, do you read me?” you shout at the ship, even though the microphone is a few centimeters from your mouth. “REQUIEM DO NOT LAND.”

You can feel the panic seizing your lungs, making your eyes tear up.

A crackle shoots through the headset, “-an hear me, I’m lan- . . . twenty sev- . . . -adrant, subset . . . -een.”

The comm was damaged pretty badly during the breakup in atmosphere and subsequent rough landing, and the additional interference from the planet’s sun is clearly too taxing. You have to listen helplessly as the comm cuts in and then out entirely, the silence ringing in your ears louder than anything you’ve heard in weeks.

You stand, stockstill, staring at the last place you saw that precious glint. 

You saw the generic civilian freighter he was in. You know how much those weigh. 

You know that your weeny escape pod was nearly too heavy.

Kriff.

Even if you had started running the second you saw the Requiem, you wouldn’t have gotten there in time. It took you most of a day to hike to the village after a bunch of the natives found you, trying to survive in the forest out there. 

You wait.

You are sure you will feel it, the moment that the most important person in your life blips out of existence forever.

If not in the crash that’s sure to happen moments after landing, then surely in the coming hours or days, as he lies wounded, starving, dehydrated. Trapped, crushed, incinerated.

But of course, you can’t let that happen. If you can help it.

Which means you have to go out there, into that forest. And rescue a Jedi Master.

And then suddenly you’re moving so fast, faster than you’ve ever moved before. You load your knapsack with as much food as it can hold and the remains of your medkit. 

You pause, your hand hovering over the secret niche that holds your past life, your past self.

Slowly, you shift the stones that make up the floor of your hut and slide the sealed box out from its resting place. Dank farrik, you don’t have time for this, to be sentimental. You stab the code into the side, and it pops open. You snatch up your lightsaber, relieved that it looks unharmed, and clip it to your utility belt, hidden under your shirt hem. You know that you’d have hell to pay if Obi-Wan survives and notices that you’ve let your most precious possession fall into disrepair. 

You’re out the door and whistling to your Yembi, a reptilian mount that looks like a varactyl.

He bounds up, and you time your leap so he’s already on the move as you are slinging yourself over his back. 

Similar to the varactyl, the Yembis are built for speed but are sleeker and built for swimming as well. They don’t have any feathers, and their faces are slimmer. Their front legs split at the elbow so they have two front legs from the joint down, each tipped with three claws. This adaption plus their natural taste for curiosity makes them a valuable companion, if agents of chaos, especially when they’re young and mischievous.

Nebi whips across the ground, and now that you’ve mastered riding these creatures, you can predict the way he’ll move and make the ride smoother. 

You pass through your herd of kaadu, making them bray and hustle out of the way. 

And then you’re plunging into the forest. There’s not a lot of rational reason for you to be afraid. You’ve never been afraid of falling. Until the ground fell out from under your feet. Now you move fast and light, and stay away from the trees that drip with aubergine leaves. They’re not real trees, not like the trees you’ve seen on other planets. They’re diffuse trees. Large bushes. Vines with stems strong enough to support themselves. Like an arboreal mist.

It’s . . . menacing. In a way that was mostly illogical until the natives, the Oma, explained that very very very long ago, Plooma was occupied by a race that preyed upon other sentient beings, including each other. Their particularly vicious brand of Darkness permeated the very soil that soaked up the blood.

Nebi is fast, even once he settles from his canter into a jog. Even with breaks, he cuts the time it would take to walk it to a third, so you arrive in about three hours.

As you near where you think the Requiem crashed, you want to speed up, but you slow. You need to be watching the ground.

You listen with every cell in your body, hoping to hear perfectly normal landing noises.

Of course you don’t.

After finding the shell of your escape pod, half crushed and buried, you search in widening circles, until you hear the ticking of cooling metal.

You signal to Nebi to stay back as you drop lightly to the ground. You push through the tangle of branches and leaves until you see through the void where the ground has dropped away.

You feel your stomach swoop as if you were actually in freefall. 

Carefully you creep forward, hope and grief warring like gladiators.

The Requiem is perched, its wingspan precariously balancing on the edges of the sinkhole. Its nose is tipped up in the air, thank the Maker. 

You use the Force to leap onto the tip, feeling it shudder lightly. You peer down through the transparisteel. 

It’s him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. In the flesh. And bleeding, but just a little. Also unconscious. Kriff, could this get any worse. No, no best not to think that and borrow trouble when you have enough of that already.

You find an emergency docking hatch on the upper half and pop it. You drop down, dangling into the slanted corridor. You swing yourself a little and land, braced against the slant. Scrabbling for purchase against the smooth corridor, you lose some ground before using the Force to boost you toward the cockpit. You inch your way up the corridor and haul yourself into the copilot seat. 

It hits you.

You could fly out of here.

Right now.

You quickly begin flipping switches, running flight checks and warming up the engines. The ship whirs to life, and you feel your body go rigid as steel with the tension.

The engines flare up and the ship shudders. 

Rather, the ground shudders, and you feel the vessel begin to slide backwards.

The engines shriek and groan as they take the weight of the ship and begin to shear off. 

Kriff.

You punch it, but with a scream, the engines and wingtips rip away.

You grab Kenobi’s tunic and summon your lightsaber to your hand, igniting it as it hits your palm.

It blazes to life, the color bathing the cockpit sapphire, and cuts through the cockpit viewport. Carefully, you hold it still with the Force, the focus it takes making you break out in a sweat. You haven’t needed to do anything this delicate or sensitive in so long. And your body trembles with anxiety. The adrenaline released by falling spiking your panic atmospherically high.

You lift the piece free and send it flying far off into the forest. You launch yourself upwards, hauling you and Kenobi free. The reaction sends the Requiem downwards to a dark and possibly watery grave.

You cushion the fall as best as you can, but you and Kenobi roll across the forest floor, crashing through the web of branches and bruising you thoroughly.

Nebi noses your shoulder as you try to catch your breath. 

“I’m okay,” you wheeze, reaching up to pat aimlessly at his head.

He chirps and huffs, blowing a hot breath across your face. You roll over and find Obi-Wan’s neck, jamming two fingers against the artery and slumping with relief at the strong, even pulse. He must have hit his head when the ship initially broke the surface. There’s just a trickle of blood at his temple, but when you check his eyes, they’re both responsive to light. What little there’s left, as the day eases into dusk. 

You pull yourself up to a kneeling position and just look at Master Kenobi laid out before you. Really here. You reach out and feel the thick texture of his tunic. Yep, really him. Really here.

He looks different than the last time you saw him. He’s cut his hair into a shorter style that was mussed now, but you can see how he’d style it, elegantly swept to the side. 

And he had a beard. 

And, oh Maker, what a beard. It was trimmed but thick and reddish-blonde, and you want to run your fingers through it.

It’s an effort to shut these thoughts down. He’s here and you have to get yourself under control. You’ve spent too much time not needing to shield constantly. The Oma are not Force sensitive, and although there’s a Darkness lingering like a miasma in some areas, it’s easy enough to avoid those areas or block it out. The simplicity of life here on Plooma is incredibly peaceful otherwise. It lends itself to working meditation, allowing you to fall into rhythms with the beings, the flora and fauna, that is . . . transcendent. It is the antithesis of war. And for all your frustration at being trapped here, your helplessness lets you enjoy it.

You relax into this new version of you, and let the tranquility settle through you.

You whistle to Nebi who trills and crouches beside you both. Using the Force and every ounce of strength, you heave Kenobi onto Nebi’s back. He slumps forward, his head resting in the dip between the Yembi’s shoulder blades. 

Then you and Nebi start walking. Just as the last of the honey-gold light was leaching out of the evening sky, Obi-Wan groans.

Nebi freezes at the same time you do.

“Master?” you ask softly.

He grumbles and brings his hand to his brow. Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position. You retrieve a cup from your knapsack and fill it at a nearby stream. There’s water everywhere on Plooma. Streams, rivers, cenotes. The natives drink from them, and after a period of adjustment to the mineral taste, you did too.

You offer him the cup. 

He takes it, his fingers brushing over yours. You clamp down on your reaction, letting it dissipate under your shields.

He drains the cup and returns it to you. He says your name. Softly. Testing out his voice, rough with disuse.

You fill the cup again and he sips at it, letting it rest in between on his muscular thigh, as you resume your march.

You divert your eyes. 

“I tried to warn you not to land,” you finally say.

“Are you okay? Why are you still here? Why haven’t you checked in?” he fires off, his eyebrows furrowing with concern, now that the dam is broken.

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yes, Master. I’m fine. My ship broke up in the atmosphere. But there are no other ships on the planet.”

He asks quietly, “The Requiem?”

“Swallowed. By a sinkhole, Master. I’m sorry.” You worry at the inside of your cheek.

“So we’re trapped,” he states. 

You want to look at his face to see if he’s smirking or frowning. But you can’t let yourself. You want to laugh, to cry, to take a nap. It’s been a long day.

He holds out the cup to you, and you empty it gratefully, pausing briefly to refill it before catching up with Nebi and Kenobi. Yeah, that’s where the inspiration for your Yembi’s name comes from. Admittedly you didn’t think you’d ever see another Jedi again, but much less this one, much less the opportunity to introduce any Jedi to Nebi. 

“How’s your head?” you ask.

“Tender.” He winces as he probes it with his fingers.

“What brought you out here anyway?” Plooma was firmly in Separatist territory, and it was risky for either of them to be here as agents of the Republic. Well, in Separatist space, maybe not here on this planet specifically. They were probably safer on Plooma than nearly anywhere else in the galaxy, since without a port, there was no one to come or go, no one to recognize them, no one to report them to anyone else. They were, in the grand scheme of the galaxy, all alone. Who did the Oma have to tell? You had taken a long time to work out a makeshift vocabulary of whatever the Oma spoke, Oman? And Basic.

Kenobi gives you a long look, you can practically feel it, even if you refuse to meet his blue eyes.

“You. Obviously. I came as fast as I could after you didn’t check in on time. The Council . . . finally authorized it. I take it there’s no Separatist base here.” I knew Master Kenobi respected the Jedi Council. I knew he preferred to defer to them. That pause? That said a lot to anyone who knew him.

You bark a laugh. “No, Master. No ships, no landing pad, no port. No tech beyond what I saved from my escape pod.”

He grunts, and you dig out some fruit. You peel it and hand him roughly half the sections. He makes a quiet, pleased noise at the sweet crunch and snap of the fruit. Plooma sucked to live on, but it wasn’t all bad.

Nebi warbled and trilled at me. “Hey, you mind if we take a break?”

He scoffed and slid off, stumbling slightly, and stretching his sore muscles. 

Night was settling all around you, and the various night creatures were waking up. You flip open the flap of your sack and pull out a container of boiled grains, some dried meat, and more fruit. You divide it up between the three of you. Giving the biggest portion of meat to Nebi, who was an omnivore, who also got some fruit, and then splitting the grains up between Obi-Wan and yourself. Nebi scarfed his pile down while you and Obi-Wan picked at your own portions. You try not to push him, even though you have about a thousand questions about what’s happened while you were gone. You give him space. You have an idea of what he’s going through. Denial, grief, loss. Learning that everything you once held onto as firm and constant is being torn from you . . . is a difficult process.

“Try to . . . relax,” you order, drawing your knees up. Obi-Wan was reclining against Nebi, fighting to keep his eyes open. “I’ll try not to let you sleep.”

Your night vision is sharp, and Plooma’s bioluminescent flora and fauna glitters through the forest, making the nightscape a haunting ultraviolet and teal undulating sea. 

His voice startles you, even as it cuts softly through the starlit air. “You seem out of hope, young one.”

The words shock you. You haven’t realized how much he was picking up through the Force, or maybe just through your demeanor. You haven’t dared even the briefest foray past the barriers of your mind, even to sense his injuries and health. You feel in yourself that you have strayed too far from the mindset that you should have been cultivating as a Jedi Knight.

And there’s a bunch of thoughts you’re trying to tamp back down after having the freedom of thinking whatever you want whenever you want for weeks on end.

“I’m not,” you reply after a moment. “Out of hope that is. It’s a different way of life out here. But yeah. I’ve pretty much given up on returning to the Republic. It sucks that you’ve gotten drawn into this too.” You think about that for a second. Yeah, no matter how you feel on a personal level, you hate that this Maker-forsaken planet has trapped Obi-Wan Kenobi too.

His head rolls to the side and as a sliver of azure tries to catch your gaze. “You don’t think they’ll come for a missing Jedi Master  _ and  _ a missing Jedi Knight?”

You set your chin on your folded arms and look out at the creepy shifting celadon landscape. “That’s what worries me. You think a troop carrier is that much lighter than the Requiem?”

The piercing stare disappears from your peripherals, and you release a little sigh of relief.

“Alright, so we need to warn them not to land. You have a comm set? I’ll see what we can do with that.”

You let yourself take a long, slow blink. “Right. Like I tried to stop you from landing. Very effective, Master.”

You hear his deep sigh as he mentally rolls his eyes. 

“Am I cursed to be surrounded by the greatest smartarses the galaxy can produce?” he asks rhetorically, slinging an arm over his eyes.

You bark out a laugh before you can contain it. Stars, of all the beings in the universe, of course he’s the one to come rescue you.

“Master,” you snort, half succeeding in swallowing down laughter you haven’t felt in months. “I think you bring it on yourself.”

He huffs and makes a ‘pfft’ noise, but he has no rebuttal, and you revel in getting the last word in. For now.

You fight back your hysteria, trying not to sound like you’re totally out of control. Eventually you cram it back down, and settle in to wait for dawn or Nebi’s strength to return. 

There are plenty of dangerous and deadly critters that slink and crawl over and under the thin shell of Plooma’s surface, but none dare cross your path tonight. Plenty of the villagers spent the bulk of their time hunting them down and dealing with them before they grew in number to threaten the kaadu, the Yembi, or the Oma. Or the fields or the village or basically any of the resources that stand between you and the Oma and certain death.

You could make their lives easier if you plied your lightsaber to the task. But you’ve always had an easier time with the connection between Living things and the Force. And somehow, spilling more blood on this already Dark ground seems too blasphemous.

“I can hardly feel you,” he says, murmuring your name softly. Sleep is slurring his words, and you know he’s trying to keep himself awake.

“Well, yeah. I’m all the way over here. Are you hallucinating?” You feel a jolt of nervousness. If he was seeing things, his condition was maybe beyond what you could do to help.

“No. No, I meant in the Force. You feel . . . you feel like you aren’t Force sensitive at all,” he pauses. He seems to wake up some more, his eyes widening and pining you in place.

Well, at least your shields were working. Hopefully this means that he hasn’t picked up on any of the thoughts or feelings you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

“I’m still . . . me, Master. I’ve just . . . been living a normal life here. I haven’t been a Jedi Knight in . . . in . . . . How long have I been gone?”

You think he’s fallen asleep, and cut your gaze to him. His eyes catch yours, and you pass a long moment trapped in looking at each other.

“Nine standard months, twenty seven days.” You glance away, breaking the eye contact. You had just readjusted your gaze to the luminescent scenery, when he continued very softly, slurring half-consciously, “Let me feel you.”

Tentatively you pull up memories of Coruscant, of the Temple, of saber duels, and ship cockpits. You let the oceanic intensity bound up in your lightsaber wash over you. You feel the serenity and conflict of your life as a Jedi Knight well up. The aspirations you had that you tried so hard to trade for humility, the compassion that bloomed into love, the chaos of war that Plooma had swapped for peace. 

Your Force senses flowed outward like water across parched ground. You suck in a breath as it brushes against Obi-Wan's glimmering dawn radiance.

You actually feel your pupils contract as the light that he emits through the Force warms you. After a moment, they dilate again, and your night vision returns.

Obi-Wan sighs softly, and his body seems to unwind. He’s settling into a meditative state, keeping himself conscious but letting his mind calm.

It must be nice to not feel alone. You know exactly what that’s like, and you let it permeate you too, leaning into the feeling instead of keeping it at arm’s length. You’ve been half hoping this was all a dream, but it’s not.

You watch the stars whirl across the sky. A view you’ve taken for granted, seeing them from above, among them, and not below. 

“Master?” you check on his consciousness.

“Still awake, young one.”

Nebi, like the good boy he is, gurgles after a few hours by your reckoning. You had raised him from a hatchling after his mother had died and abandoned the nest. The whole clutch had been special, but Nebi had stayed with you, despite the Chief Oma, or at least what you’ve assumed is the local leader, having placed a proverbial dibs. It had taken you a long time to earn back that goodwill you’d lost over that.

He shakes himself awake, jostling Obi-Wan in the process. 

He leaps to his feet, hand grabbing his hilt, in one smooth motion. It only takes him a second to regain his bearings and offer you a hand up.

You take it without thinking and have to stifle a gasp at the electric current that shoots up your arm. You yank back your hand as soon as you can and brush yourself off. 

Nebi finishes drinking deeply from a brook and returns to nuzzle you with his wet muzzle.

“Ready to ride?” you ask.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies as Nebi chirps at the same time, both an affirmative answer.

You situate yourself on his back, feeling the thick cords of reptilian muscle bunch and flex with eagerness.

“Will he carry two?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Sure he will. Not very fast, maybe not all the way. But for a while. You afraid of a little bareback Yembi riding, Master?” You feel your cheeks flush belatedly at your word choice, but it’s so dark, there’s no way he can see it.

He scoffs, and you instantly realize your mistake as he mounts Nebi. His broad chest brushes against your back, and his thick thighs bracket yours. You are instantly, inexplicably, too hot. 

Dank farrik. This was going to be a long night. 

You whistle and Nebi takes off, his long, rolling gait soothing, even with Kenobi bumping against your back as he tries to find the rhythm.

After a while, it frays your last nerve, and you half twist around, “Maker, stop tensing. You’re fighting against him too much. I thought you were supposed to be such a good rider.” You smack the outside of his thigh with the back of your hand for good measure.

When he huffs this time, you feel the plume of hot air against the nape of your neck, and you feel the hairs all over your body stand up.

Kriff, stop it! 

He shuffles around awkwardly and after a moment, the rhythm gets easier, and you relax just a little.

“I’m probably concussed. Almost definitely. You should really be nice to me. I’m the one that got injured on a rescue mission to come get you,” he points out snarkily and jabs you in the ribs with a finger. His posh accent reached a whole other level of appeal when breathed less than thirty centimeters from the back of your head while scolding you. Never has that tone been more appealing.

“This is me being nice. I could’ve told you Nebi bites, and you had to walk.”

“Nebi,” he repeats, and you can hear the deadpan without even looking. Kriff.

“Yep. It’s . . . a traditional name. You really shouldn’t mock the local culture,” you shoot back. You can practically feel his mouth pop open, primed with a response, so you cut back in, “Really, Kenobi. I don’t think that expression is very becoming of a Jedi Master.”

He chokes out an indignant, “Kenobi?” like he’s never heard his own last name.

And you just knew you were right about his expression. Maker, it feels good to still be able to read him. This may have been the first time you addressed him by his surname and not ‘Master.’ To his face at least. Well in his general auditory vicinity.

It had always been that way between you. A veneer of formality over an undercurrent of something dangerously close to friendship. A bond formed in the tumultuous time after your Master was killed just before your Trials. Obi-Wan was grounded at the Temple at the time due to some injuries and was instructed to prepare you for your Trials. He also accompanied you on your first few missions, as the Council was concerned for your grief-stricken mind and broken bond with your dead Master. 

He’s saved your life countless times. Just like he was trying to save you again now, but this time, you are repaying him with a prison in the shape of a planet.

After a beat, Obi-Wan continues, “You . . . salvage your medkit?”

“I did. I had to use some of the supplies, but it’s mostly all in there. Why? You doing okay?” He doesn’t answer but you feel the weight of his head land on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” you say, wiggling your shoulder, trying to keep him awake. Maker, his head was heavy. Must be all the audacity he keeps up there, being so kriffing attractive and knowing it. “Hey.” You jostle him harder, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

You awkwardly twist around, reseating yourself backwards, facing Kenobi. He's slumping most of his weight on you, and the crush and heat of it is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. 

You grip either side of his head, the scratch of his beard under your thumbs and the softness of his hair under your fingers, and tilt his head back, watching his eyelids flutter. 

You press against his Force presence, his sky blue flickering to a dimmer slate. You shove against him mentally, feeling the slew of his thoughts.

He mumbles something. Dank farrik. You pull your knapsack off and drop it in the diamond your legs make with Kenobi’s. You dig out the med supplies you grabbed and look them over, looking for a stim shot, a bacta shot, anything. 

You feel the right size and raised lettering for bacta. You can’t confirm the colors that differentiate the medicines in the dim light, but you're sure based off the size and shape of the cylinder alone. 

You have two bacta shots left. You don’t even second guess it, you jam the cartridge against his thigh and depress the button at the end with all the strength in your thumb. 

Now all you can do is wait. He slumps onto you entirely, and Nebi grumbles from beneath you. His face is turned into the crook of your neck and breathing hot air against your skin. You loop your arms under his and around his lower back and hold him so neither of you falls off. 

You can feel the second the bacta starts working. His body tenses and arches against you. 

Kriff this is too much. Even for your shields. He gasps awake right next to your ear. 

He’s scrambling against you, fighting against the sudden awakening in unfamiliar territory.

“Master,” you utter sternly. If you both fall off Nebi’s back, there’s the chance you break through the crust and get lost to Plooma’s underworld. A worse prison than Plooma itself. 

Kenobi flares blue-white through the Force but calms down once he recognizes you.

“Young one,” he responds in a questioning tone. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why are we . . . hugging?” He shifts around you. You had tucked your thighs under his, so you could continue to grib Nebi’s sides and stay mounted, and his thighs are nearly too heavy for your grip. 

“Well, you passed out, and I, so very thoughtfully, didn’t want you to get concussed, yet again, against the ground. And I had to administer bacta. So you’re welcome.”

He straightens a little, and you release him, focusing on replacing the contents of your rucksack before knotting your hands in the straps.

You know you’ve gotta turn around, but you don’t really want to repeat the same awkward squirming routine to face forward again.

You watch as his fingers rise and tip your chin back, forcing you to meet his gaze without some intense side-eye required to avoid his.

His azure eyes trap yours, before he murmurs low in his beautifully accented Basic, “Thank you. We will get home, young one. Have faith.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you flush. You can't keep track of your relative location to the village from your vantage point, riding backwards, but based on the thinning trees, you're probably getting close.

You start twisting around to keep an eye on your progress as much as to hide the tears in your eyes. You really don’t know if you can do this again. This cycle of hoping and waiting and waiting, until your hope thins, and you forget what it feels like to believe that good things will come. Until you settle and learn to hope for different things, smaller things. He doesn’t know it, but he’s asking you to bare yourself again to the pain of disappointment. 

You try to hide this, but he must sense your melancholy, because he leans in and squeezes your upper arm reassuringly. “Let go of your fear and your anxiety. Do not fall into the Darkness of despair.”

You keep your eyes on the lilac sky, shot through with amber, trying to keep the wetness from spilling down your face.

You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear the braying of kaadu. You can see your herd through the last few stands of dark purple draped clumps.

The tears trickle down your face, but you don’t dare wipe them away in case you tip Kenobi off to face you’re crying. 

How is he so kriffing Light all the time?

Nebi speeds up as he nears home, and you bound through the scattering kaadu. 

And of course half the entire village is clumped along the path that leads from your hut to the village. Since you manage a herd, and need a bunch of room for weight distribution reasons, your house is positioned on the far edge of the village. Great for privacy. Usually. When you saw Kenobi’s ship earlier, it was the middle of the day. No doubt a bunch of the Oma going about their day also saw you take off after the descending ship.

They were now waiting for your return. 

“Looks like you’re . . . popular,” he mutters.

You groan, hang your head, and rub your eyes with your right hand, covering for wiping away the moisture.

“Yeah, welcome to the village. This is just about every Oma that lives here.”

Nebi comes to a halt, and Obi-Wan waves to the tittering crowd.

“Hello, there!” he says jubilantly.

You roll off the Yembi and grin, “They don’t speak Basic, Master.”

He follows you down and mutters, “Of course not.”

You recognize the Chief and crouch to talk to him. The Oma have an average height of about a meter and appear to possibly have a common ancestor with the Mon Calamari. With medium sized eyes set on either side of a narrow, elongated head, gills adapted to air and water, and thin, webbed toes, they seem well suited to Plooma. 

“My friend is here to live with me.” You punctuate each word with a gesture to you, to Obi-Wan, to the ground, back to you, and then to your home. You add in the few Oman words you think have equivalent meanings.

The Oman facial expressions are still a little difficult to read but the up-turned lips and squinted eyes mean the same thing in most species.

The Chief grunts back a string of Oman, and you catch what you believe to be a series of expressions relating to families.

“No, friend,” you reply, repeating the word you pray means ‘friend’ and not lover or enemy or pappat, which is the crunchy fruit.

The Chief garbles the same word you’ve heard couples use for each other, and you shake your head. He’s already chattering away with the others around him. They begin passing up baskets and jugs. You groan and sink onto your knees with your face in your hands.

Obi-Wan calls your name with a questioning tone from his vantage point above you.

You stand back up as the two of you are being ringed by a small pile of goods.

He’s staring you down, and you almost wish that you could sink through the ground just so you don’t have to explain this next part.

“They,” you say, gesturing to the villagers, smiling and bobbing as they set out gifts, to waste a few more seconds, “believe that we are . . . a family unit.”

This is the only way you can describe their traditions without feeling like you’re going to combust. Even the idea of saying the word ‘husband’ to Obi-Wan Kenobi, even without the context of the villagers’ assumptions, is almost more than you can bear.

He glances at the heap of gifts and then at you. “You mean they believe that we are married.”

“Well, you got the gist of it.” You gather an armful and carry them into your hut so you don’t have to look him in the face. Your home is rudimentary and low to the ground, made without the benefit of long, rigid, fibrous materials like logs. It’s just one room with a low sleeping shelf, firepit, and a waist-high work surface made from slabs of rock, every free stretch of wall is lined with shelves cut from the thick walls and lined with thin pieces of shale.

You try not to think about Kenobi’s analysis of your monastic living space. 

Once the goods are relocated inside, and you’re fighting to find space for all of it, you speak up again, “We can start work on your own domicile soon.”

“You truly believe we’ll be here that long?” he asks, and you don’t know how to answer.

“I can probably fit another bed in here at least.” You look around your tiny home, seeing it through new eyes. There’s nothing beautiful or really clean here, but it’s simple. Obi-Wan is the kind of Jedi that adheres so strictly to code that he’s certain to appreciate the utter lack of finery here. You hope.

He’s silent as he continues to hand you clay jugs and cloth-wrapped bundles. By all accounts, this is enough dry goods and special treats to last you the rest of the season. Where did they get all this abundance? You feel a flash of guilt as a bolt of the finest cloth you’ve seen passes through your hands. The Oma don’t wear much in the way of clothing, mostly decorational or ceremonial jewelry, and with the amount of moisture on Plooma, fine woven fabrics are a rare and valuable commodity for their delicacy.

You shake your head and remember your duties. The kaadu need tending to and you need to make sure Nebi isn’t overtaxed.

You feel a flicker of light from Kenobi as you leave.


	2. Fluid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue to do the impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

You work through the morning until the sun makes it unbearable and you retreat to your hut. Kenobi is sitting cross-legged on the clear space in front of your bed, with his back against it. He’s deep in a meditative state, and his Force signature is like a calm, clear sky. You try to keep quiet as you haul in a pail of fresh, cool water, and drink deeply. You pick at some fruit and some of the fish you’d cooked yesterday for dinner. Kriff, that feels like a lifetime ago. The small amount of storage beneath the floor stones keeps quite cool, and that’s where you organized some of the goods you’d been gifted, evicting other more perishable foods to be eaten sooner rather than later.

You watch Kenobi out of the corner of your eye, his incongruence at odds with your usual solitude, distracting.

You reach for your own meditative state, and it comes easier with his Light suffusing the space. 

It washes over you, but as its rays shine through your own presence, they illuminate the eddies of the wine dark sea of your thoughts. 

You feel ashamed and redirect your attention to clothing and blankets folded in a woven reed basket. You sort out what you think will fit Kenobi, and what’s too small and will do for you. How long had they been working on these? You shake your head. The Oma were strange, having been so long disconnected from the galaxy, and without a better understanding of their language, you were mostly lost.

The nights occasionally got quite cold, and the blankets would be welcome. Trying not to think about tonight, you set out a clean slab of shale with some food.

“Master,” you murmur quietly, unwilling to disturb him if he’s too deep in meditation.

Slowly, he blinks his eyes open, and stars, his pupils are so dark, in the dim interior light, you can’t see any blue at all.

He takes the proffered meal. “Have you felt --”

You cut him off, “The Darkness here? Yeah. Mostly it’s just in a few areas in the forest.” You let a moment pass as Obi-Wan bites into the fish and fruit. “I can feel it from here now though. I wonder if it’s grown or if I just didn’t notice it before.”

Kenobi pauses eating to tug at his beard thoughtfully. “Did you withdraw your Force signature to protect yourself?”

“It’s . . . possible.” You know you need to talk about this. About how you’ve changed. But you don’t want to, not yet.

And then he asks it, in such a quiet voice, “Do you want to leave?”

You have to think about this now, he’s forcing you to confront it. Do you?

“Maybe . . . . Yes.”

“Do you want to return to the Jedi?” He asks it like you have a choice. Who would you be if you weren’t? A kaadu herder?

“I don’t . . . I don’t know?” you reply. Can you really dare to hope again? To believe in a future off Plooma? To believe that you will see the Jedi Temple on Coruscant again?

“Are you telling me or asking me, young one?” You can hear his soft humor in the words, and it’s like you’re a newly minted Knight once more, laying in the trenches, the snap and sizzle of blaster bolts all around you, and Master Kenobi with some smartarse remark.

You run your hand through your hair, listening to Nebi trilling at the kaadu outside, and shake your head.

“Do I have a choice?” you finally answer him, a question for a question.

He huffs and shoots you a look, “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be the first . . . to choose . . . another path.” He quiets after that, sharing your thoughtfulness. 

You settle in to nap through the next hour or two, until the day cools. Thoughts and half-dreams churn through your mind as you slip into a half-sleep. In a distant, far away sense you hear Kenobi moving around, but after a while, his light mellows to celadon.

You jerk awake, and immediately search for the source of alarm. Nothing in the hut, you listen for Nebi, for his warning call, for the kaadus’ cries. Nothing. Nothing. What’s wrong?

You stand and slink to the door, peering out into the late afternoon haze of bronze light. No one on the path to the village, no screaming. No track marks from the more dangerous creatures.

You look to the right.

Of course.

Master Kenobi is clicking and cooing at Nebi, trying to entice him closer with something in his hand.

You roll your eyes and straighten from your defensive crouch. Kenobi’s back is mostly to you so you gesture to Nebi, miming a snarl and a bite.

Obi-Wan startles as Nebi lunges forward, licks up the morsel, and pins the Jedi’s hand between his teeth. Nebi knows better than to bite hard, you spent weeks training him to play without drawing blood. You burst out laughing, and Kenobi spins around with his hand still in Nebi’s mouth. 

He growls your name and you answer with a whistle to your Yembi to release his prey. Obi-Wan shakes out his hand as he paces across the field to you.

“Can’t help it, sir. I’ve trained him too well.” You grin mischievously.

“Foresaw this, did you, young one?” he shoots back. 

You give him a cocky shrug, and he brings a finger up threateningly. You block his finger with your palm.

“Don’t wag your finger at me. I’m not a Padawan anymore.” You watch, satisfied, as a mildly indignant expression crosses his face. 

“Then why do you keep calling me Master?” he recovers and replies, starting to circle around you. You match him step for step. 

“Because I was trying to be respectful. Kenobi.”

He faints at you, and you slide back. You twist and lunge, throwing a back kick for reach to close the distance. He leans back, and as you complete the spinning motion to land back in your starting position, he flicks a foot toward your stomach. You block and try to catch his leg in the same motion, but he’s so kriffing fast.

The distance between you has closed, and the circle is tighter as you pass each other.

“Obi-Wan isn’t good enough for you?” he asks as he switches his leading side, and you match him, your right side leading now as you both start circling the other way.

You slide in, hoping to catch him off guard, and aim to knee him with your forward leg, your right one. He twists, crossing his right foot to the outside of your own right one so you knee the air to the side of his body, and as you let your foot hit the ground, you realize your mistake. It all happens so fast, you bringing up your knee, his sweeping your foot, and knocking you to the ground. He had grabbed your arm as he knocked out your leg, and now has your elbow locked out against his knee. In a real combat situation, it would already be broken. There’s no good way out of this, but you have to try anyway. You thread your legs on either side of his far one, so that your right leg is behind his knee and your left one is over his hip. You twist, popping his knee forward and exerting pressure against his waist, hoping to drop him backwards. 

He releases your arm in favor of catching himself. He’s on top of you in a second, not giving you a chance to press your advantage. You’ve lost all finesse, and you flail at him, until he catches your wrists. You try to buck him off, but he’s keeping himself low over your body, and you can’t get him unbalanced.

You whistle to Nebi, but Kenobi slaps a hand over your mouth a second too late. Nebi clamps his teeth over his shoulder, and you notice Nebi’s body language is all wrong. You shake your head quickly, trying to pull Kenobi’s hand off and signal to Nebi at the same time. You have to call the Yembi off. His eyes are dilated, and his body tension reads anxiety. He’s been watching you fight and might think this is too real.

He whips his hand away at the feeling of the teeth around his shoulder and upper arm, and you gasp out Nebi’s name. He releases Obi-Wan, not a scratch on him, thankfully.

“That’s cheating. I still won that round,” he says, winded but confident. He leans back, hands resting on his thighs, kneeling with his feet under him.

“Is that so, Obi-Wan?” you ask, yanking your legs from under him and lunging at him, tackling him in a laughing, tumbling heap. He uses the momentum and rolls over until he’s on top, and you twist and keep up the motion, turning over and over again.

Eventually you come to a stop, your sides hurting from the giggles that won’t stop coming. The hysteria from last night is finally working its way out, and every time Obi-Wan sighs and then does that low hum-laugh, it gets you cackling until you’re both roaring again. 

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you tremble and gasp, “I thought you . . . would’ve applauded me . . . for m-my . . . for pressing my advantage.”

“You may be right. Still won’t make me concede,” he sighs, rubbing his sore stomach muscles.

All you have to do is turn on your side and prop yourself up on an elbow so you can take in his regal face in profile. His features are beautiful, you’ve always thought so, even before you realized it had become something more for you. He was objectively handsome, with his thick hair, lightning blue eyes, and strong nose. Broad chest, strong arms. Full lips.

Maker.

The moment stretches tight, your desires warring with your weakening self-restraint.

His head tips over and meets your gaze. You had something important to say on the tip of your tongue, but his azure eyes pin you in place and suddenly there’s no room for anything else. There’s just him and you in this meadow under an amber sun, and not room for another thought in your head. 

You suck in a breath and break the tension, “Guess you can chalk it up with all your other wins, Kenobi.”

He rolls onto his side too, reaching out to pull a stray leaf from your hair. He murmurs your name. You want to tangle your fingers with his, your hands palm to palm. “Call me Obi-Wan. Please. It’s weird to hear my last name, especially without ‘Master.’”

“Why not make me call you Master Kenobi then?” you ask, curious.

“I don’t think I could ever make you do anything. And I’m no more your Master than you are a Padawan, young Knight.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce quietly, “Obi-Wan.” Stars that felt . . . good. Painful. Something.

You flop back down, Nebi nosing your shoulder, and you rub his face, scratching under his chin.

You feel Obi-Wan watch you for a few moments longer, before he sits up and slings an arm around his bent knee, long, thick legs splayed wide across the low ground cover.

Nebi nudges you again, so you lazily roll yourself onto his back. He rises and strolls off to the edge of the kaadu herd.

Obi-Wan watches from the clearing near your home. After a beat, you nudge Nebi around and let him stretch his legs and sprint back to Kenobi.

“You wanna go for a ride?” you offer, holding out your hand.

He doesn’t hesitate, slinging himself up behind you and settling into the Yembi’s rhythm easier this time. Nebi lopes off for the kaadu stragglers, who were lingering too near the forest. 

Obi-Wan rests his hands casually on the Yembi’s shoulders, in the space just in front of your thighs. You have your hands on Nebi’s neck, bracing yourself, and Kenobi’s long arms have nowhere else to go except on either side of your ribcage. His large body surrounds you, and you can enjoy it this time without fearing for his life. 

As Nebi does his work, trotting after the herd, keeping the young and old away from the edges, and occasionally sending a growl in the direction of the forest, you can’t help but lean into Obi-Wan. Just a little bit. You can smell him, that warm, woodsy, fresh scent that’s tinged with that heady musk that makes your heart beat harder than it should. 

As he gets more comfortable with the rolling Yembi gait, Nebi gets a little bolder, speeding up and leaping farther. In reaction, Obi-Wan’s arms tighten around you, and you can’t help the way that your body responds, gasping, straightening, a chill running down your back. You’re pretty sure Nebi’s movements cover it, but you can’t be completely sure. How are you going to last even a week like this?

The sun begins to cut through the hazy forest, the light fading as it sinks lower, and the kaadu head to where they bed down in the loosely fenced area behind your hut. Nebi follows them, pacing the outside of their fence as they grumble lowly. You drop down and check over the dozen in your herd, spread out in three family groups, leaving Kenobi on Nebi at the edge of the paddock. The kaadu and the hut belonged to an Oman family that had been killed in the weeks before your arrival. The Oma had simply integrated you into their world, and after some modifications to the hut to make it suitable for your height, it had become your world too. 

The light has shifted, bluing and dimming, as you make sure all is well. When you turn back to Obi-Wan, he’s silhouetted by the mauve light, rays of the dying sun streaking out around him, defining his silhouette but casting him in shadow. 

It’s beautiful. You’re sure you’ve never seen anything else nearly as beautiful, not in all the galaxy.

As the sun sets, his outline blurs into the coming night, and you rise from where you’re monitoring an elderly kaadu. You met them at the edge of the pen.

After a moment, Obi-Wan says, “You are good with them. I didn’t realize . . . .” He trails off, but you know. You know what he means.

You raise a hand, palm out towards him, to halt his words and say, “Don’t. It’s not your fault. Everything that happened, the time we spent together, it's not . . . . I don’t regret any of it.” Obi-Wan mentored you through your Trials, but nothing could replace your Master. Obi-Wan wanted to protect you, to ease that pain. And in the hectic months afterward, as you faced death on your own terms as a Knight, you formed a bond with Obi-Wan out of fear and risk. He knows that’s no substitute for the enduring connection that most Jedi share. You can feel the churn of smoke through the light of his Force presence as he tries to accept and release his guilt. You swallow hard around the knot of grief in your throat, before saying, “You did the best you could. I’m grateful that you were there for me.”

“Master Tholme would be proud of you, young one.”

You dash your tears away roughly. “You really think so?” You throw your arms out, encompassing your whole life in the dusky evening. “You think he’d be proud of me stranding myself here and abandoning the Jedi Way? He trained me better, he wanted more for me than this. What I can’t figure out is why you aren't angrier at me.”

“There is no emotion, there is only peace. I’m not angry, dear one, because I am trying to be at peace with myself and with your choices.” He slides off Nebi and braces himself against the low fence. “Your path is your own. Whatever I or Master Tholme wanted for you, it’s up to you to decide.”

You ask lowly, “What have you decided?” You aren't sure what prompts your question, but it seems important.

Obi-Wan gets a thoughtful look in his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before he answers, “I choose to hope and to fight. I came out here for you after all.”

The weight of expectations are as heavy as neutron stars on your shoulders. You try to brush it off, to dissipate your emotions like Obi-Wan, but you’re not nearly as practised at it than he is. After you walk far enough away from Kenobi and your Yembi, you swing yourself over the top of the fence and keep walking to the hut, too mixed up inside to keep talking.

Blindly, you put together enough food for you and Kenobi. Nebi will scavenge, and if he can’t find enough food during the night, he’ll coo at you until you serve him up a big breakfast. 

You eat half-heartedly, chewing and swallowing mechanically, soothing your mental rough waters to a calmer state.

You’re sitting where you napped earlier, leaning your head against a stretch of wall too low for shelves. It’s been a long kriffing day, so when Kenobi enters quietly, you don’t open your eyes or move a centimeter. Even with your eyes closed, Obi-Wan’s Light suffuses the space, rolling over you like the dawn. You sink into a meditation, feeling like you can breathe at last.

You wake a little while later, slowly surfacing, listening to the quiet sounds of nighttime. You’re thirsty, so you rise and gather your buckets. You don’t have to walk far to refill them, but you enjoy the cool blackness, the kaadu huffing and snoring, Nebi pacing and rustling out of sight. The nighttime is beautiful here, in a subtly sinister sort of way sometimes, and you meander to a farther stream, just to enjoy it. You feel much calmer now than you did before. As much as you wish otherwise, your attraction to Kenobi makes everything else feel irrational. Maker help you, you can’t stop thinking about him. Even when you had first landed here and he was literally unreachable in nearly every sense of the word, he was never far from your thoughts.

You fill the buckets and begin hauling them back, looking for the faint flashes of far off creatures lurking in the plant growth as you make your return trip.

You set the buckets down on the stone floor and scoop out a cupful. It’s cool and fresh, and you are so kriffing grateful you didn’t get stranded on a desert planet. 

You’re enjoying it so much that you startle as Kenobi says sleepily, “Here, take the bed.”

“I’m fine,” you respond, and really the floor is quite uncomfortable, okay maybe not the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever slept, but also not terribly comfortable either. Still there’s no way you’re going to oust a Jedi Master from the only bed.

“I insist.” He rolls over and props himself up.

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor. And it’s my house, so that’s that,” you sigh.

He huffs before suggesting, “Bring me some water, and I’ll make room for you. And I have seniority on this rescue mission. So there.”

You roll your eyes, even knowing he can’t see it, and bring him the water. He drinks deeply before setting the cup on the floor and rolling back over towards the wall, leaving a stretch nearest you empty. 

You stand and stare at the empty space. It’s wider than the average cot due to Oman anatomy, but it’s not exactly spacious. Finally your shoulders slump in acceptance, and you climb onto the thin, stuffed mattress. You also lie on your side, leaving as much space between the two of you as you can. He flicks his wrist, sending half the blanket fluttering over you too. You’re certain that you will overheat with the way Kenobi is radiating like a broken heatvent even across this distance.

It takes you a little longer than usual to fall asleep with another body so close, but eventually you drop into unconsciousness. 

You’re too hot. You try to kick the blanket off, but your legs are trapped. Your body begins to panic even as your mind tells you to reason your way out of the trap. You wake up a little more and realize that you’re caged. 

In Kenobi’s arms. You’re mostly lying on your front and so is Kenobi, with his far arm underneath your head, and his chest and his other arm lying atop and around you. His leg is draped over you, and he’s leaning on you in a way that feels so good now that you realize it’s him. The sensation borders on crushing, but with the context of it being someone you trust, your mind lets you enjoy it. Once you take in the fact you’re not in danger, the sensation of a warm tight hug soothes you to your core.

You feel his hot breath across your neck as he groans and shifts.

Okay, you are definitely awake now. And you are definitely not soothed. You feel something hot and hard pressed against your lower back.

Dank farrik.

You will yourself into a meditative state, despite the spark that flares to life low in your pelvis. You will control yourself, you will go back to sleep. You will not ever mention Kenobi’s nocturnal arousal. 

You repeat this like a desperate mantra. 

But you are not able to help the hazy visions that follow as your mind tries to return to sleep. You must buck your hips unconsciously, against every rational impulse you have left, because you hear Obi-Wan growl and rock back against you. Kriff kriff kriff. It takes every ounce of self control to stop yourself from moving. He would never forgive you if you took advantage of his unconscious state. Especially since there’s no way he thinks of you as anything other than his one-time Padawan.

You wish you had his control, his discipline, even just an ounce of it. You wonder if he’s ever really felt out of control, felt the way you do when you look at him in an unguarded moment, the way it feels like you’ve just missed a step and the whole world is dropping out from beneath you for a heartbeat before you jolt back to reality. 

You wonder if he’s ever fallen in love. 

The ebb and flow of your thoughts eventually pulls you back out into the endless sea of unconsciousness.

He comes awake with a gasp and a flash of Light, its rays cutting through the darkness. You wake as well but slower so you don’t startle too. He’s tucked up close behind you, pulling you tight against his body. You can still feel his hard length, and you wonder if that’s why he woke up. 

You hear him breathe something quietly; it sounds like a curse. You have your Force signature so kriffing tamped down it hurts. He pulls his hands free, pauses, leans back, and then manages to climb over you, barely touching you.

He shuffles out and his noises grow fainter and fainter as he heads out into the clearing. You lay there for a while longer, keeping up the ruse that you were asleep. 

Finally, you can’t lie still any longer, and you rise, taking a drink, and gathering odds and ends from the last of the perishable food you have already prepared for a breakfast.

You lean out of the door and see Kenobi, predictably, meditating. You can sense his radiating presence from here, like a pulsating pre-dawn light, cool and indigo.

You just watch him for a moment, trying to drink in that calm. You take the food and drift through the dewy grass to where Kenobi sits with his perfect posture. You sit nearby and settle into the same meditative pose, reaching for the peace you know lingers just at your fingertips. His Light pierces rays through the churning surf in your mind. You sink down, down, down, stilling more and more with every breath.

Your thoughts swirl and float past your consciousness, you let them pass, let the feelings pass through you like clouds. Tranquility settles deeply in you, pooling in your center like cool water in a well.

An eternity passes like this, until Obi-Wan takes an especially deep breath and reaches for the food.

The movement ripples across your subconscious gently. You feel your peace go deeper than it has in a long while.

The both of you eat as the sun burns the last vestiges of indigo night away with rays of pale gold dawn.

The dew soaks through your clothes as you lounge in the field. The kaadu grunt and low as they wake and shuffle around their paddock. Nebi lopes toward you out of the hazy dark purple tree clumps. Despite their diffuse structure, they were quite tall, easily twice Obi-Wan’s height, and they made the light come through blue- and gray-tinged. 

After a while, you twist to your companion and mention off-handedly, “There’s a spring nearby. Great for bathing since I seem to be the only one that uses it. Totally private.” Is this subtle? It feels pretty obvious even to you. But besides wanting to offer Kenobi a place to . . . be alone, you’ve started to feel grimy and know you need a bath yourself. “If you walk that way until you reach kind of a . . . a ravine that cuts across your path and then turn right and follow it to where there’s a pile of boulders on the far side. Walk in the opposite direction. That should take you to where the spring is. The pool is pretty deep in the middle. I think it’s a cenote. The ground is pretty unpredictable, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, soft like the sunrise. “My clothes could definitely use a wash. And I could use a dip too, I guess.” He self-consciously runs a hand through his hair. 

Your fingers tingle, wanting to follow their path, even unwashed as it is. You crush down the thought. 

Nebi ambles up and noses at you. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ve gotta tend to my chores, Master.”

He scoffs as you rise and roll onto Nebi easily. He carries you to the kaadu, and you swing open the gate to their paddock from his back. You keep between the edge of the herd and the denser thickets of the forest. You don’t want any of them to wander too far, but they know this place far better than you. You weave through the herd, spending a little time with each of them, checking them over, their teeth, hides, feet, watching for any signs of trouble. 

The kaadu are blessedly independent. They eat the grass in the clearing and drink from the stream that cuts through their pen. They made excellent charges for someone new to husbandry. Your biggest responsibility was to keep the predators away, and Nebi did a lot of that work just by prowling around. 

After a while, Kenobi intercepts you with his arms full of a bundle. The sunlight glints off his hair and makes the strands burn gold and ember-red. Maker, it isn’t fair how good-looking he is. He stops by your knee, his head at hip height. 

If it wasn’t for the bright sun, you’re almost sure you wouldn’t have caught the red that bloomed in his cheeks. “Are you . . . Were you planning on bathing as well?”

“No, I was . . . . You can go on alone. I thought you might like some . . . space.” You feel an answering flush rise in your face. Blessed Maker, could this be any more awkward? He’s probably ensuring that he wouldn’t be interrupted while he tended to his . . . needs. Dank farrik, you hate that you have to crush down the urge to offer, first of all because you have the urge and secondly because the Jedi Code makes you. Because you don’t believe, not for a second, that Obi-Wan Kenobi, posterboy for the Jedi, would let a moment of lust, certainly not for someone he mentored, cross his pure, light mind. Except maybe subconsciously. 

You click and whistle to Nebi, and he turns, revealing the rest of the forest to Obi-Wan. “It’s just that way. Enjoy.”

You give him a shaky smile, hoping he doesn’t notice. He walks off through the hazy amethyst leaves, the light christening him like he’s an angel or ancient god.

You watch the kaadu until the sun rises halfway to the zenith. Then you loose Nebi to nap and laze in the roving pools of shade. You trace upstream to the traps you have and gather the caught fish. Watching them flop and gasp makes your skin crawl, so you lance them quickly through the eyes, giving them quick deaths. You appreciate the sacrifice so many animals make across the galaxy, as food, as beasts of burden, as tools and weapons and pets, so much more so now that you have been preparing and eating your own food. Some of the Oma slaughter the kaadu and then use the entire body, skin for shoes and clothing, bones for needles and knives, meat for food; every part is used. You haven’t been asked to do that yet; you aren’t sure you could be capable of slaughtering a creature so long in your care.

You take the basket full of fish into the cool interior of your home. You gut and clean them, placing the inedible innards in a square of waterproofed skin and tying it up. You set a few of them to cook over the fire, and take the rest a short walk to a nearby cluster of houses. There’s a smoker that one of them tends to, and you hang your catch inside. 

You return and the fish is just about done. You wrap up what you won’t eat today and store it. You hear Kenobi’s lilting, sophisticated voice. His cadence makes it clear that he’s trying to woo Nebi again. 

You gather fresh clothes and the bundle from earlier. As you pass Kenobi in the field, he smiles and offers you the soap, pushing back wet hair after you take it with a grin.

You bathe in the cool, fresh water, trying to let go of every salacious thought that pulls you farther and farther away from the calm you attained this morning. 

This soap touched Kenobi’s tanned, freckled skin. He smells like this right now. He was naked here, in this water.

Kriff.

You bathe and scatter the fish guts out far away from anywhere you or kaadu usually roam. That would keep the scavenger carnivores away for a little at least.

You return to find Obi-Wan has prepared a meal for you on a piece of slate. You eat and rest inside during the hottest part of the day. It’s quite domestic. 

What was a wretched kind of purgatory before was now a specific brand of torture. This was a kind of fantasy you’d never allowed yourself to have. A life away from the Order, normalcy, full of simple things. No death. No War. No politics or hate or droids or entire human lives created to live and die and throw themselves on the wheels of history.

You might wish for this, but you know that Kenobi could never live with himself like this. He could never turn his back on those who needed him, on innocent lives in danger, on lost young Jedi Knights, on the Galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much in advance for all of your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions!!! It means the world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for part 2 coming soon to a browser near you!
> 
> Thank you very much in advance for your kudos and comments!! They really mean the world to me and let me know that you enjoy what I've written.


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